Bilodeau critics are public no-shows

FRANKLY SPEAKING ...

Frank Mickadeit was born in Palo Alto on the last day of the winter that Buddy Holly died, grew up in Lompoc the oldest of seven children and went to college at San Diego State.

He got his first journalism job at age 16 as a part-time sportswriter at the Lompoc Record, working for Scott Ostler, who would later become a sports columnist at the Los Angeles Times and San Francisco Chronicle.

After college, he worked at newspapers in San Diego County for five years before joining the Register staff in 1987. At the Register, he was a reporter from 1987-1992, and an editor supervising coverage of local, state and political news from 1992 to 2004. He began his daily column in August of 2004.

He lives in south county with his wife -- a PR type -- and their two terriers, Angie (a Scottie) and Clancy (a wire fox). His daughter is in law school.

Given all the invective hurled at incoming Orange Councilman Denis Bilodeau this week, I figured I should show up to his swearing-in Tuesday night. His trashing on a Web site and in a newspaper ad would bring out the righteous to take him to task in public for allegedly stealing a campaign sign. (And let's be clear: The sign he supposedly "stole" wasn't promoting an opponent; it was a sign deriding Bilodeau. A video of him taking down the sign was given by the Carol Rudat campaign to Channel 7, which played it on Election Day.)

So I took a folding chair in the back row of the Council Chambers and felt fortunate to get it because it was literally standing room only. This is going to be great, I was thinking. We're finally going to see the faces behind the outrage. (Poor Mrs. Bilodeau, though, in her pretty dress. And two of the Bilodeaus' kids, including the boy in a tiny tux. They're going to have to see daddy eviscerated by an angry mob on his Big Night. Such is politics.) Orange P.D. was in force, a couple of them bearing assault rifles. They turned out to be for the color guard but, hey, glad to have them on hand anyway because you never know what you're going to need against an unseen force like the Anti-Bilodeau Army.

It turned out to be an Army of One. A gentleman named Rick Cryder stood up during the public-comments portion of the meeting, said public officials should be held to a "higher standard" and called on Bilodeau to apologize. Cryder later told my colleague Courtney Bacalso he has nothing to do with the ongoing smear campaign against Bilodeau. He even voted for him. He just felt the need to say something. And that was it. When the moment came for the anti-Bilodeau forces to step forward, they were nowhere to be found.

Bilodeau, for his part, drew chuckles when, at the end of his swearing-in speech, he thanked a laundry list of people who helped him during the campaign and ended with "Channel 7 Eyewitness News - for helping pump up my name I.D."

Who will have the last laugh remains to be seen. Some in his position might plead to a lesser offense (if the D.A. would let them) and make it go away. But Bilodeau has hired one of O.C.'s best criminal defense attorneys, Jennifer Keller, and seems to want total exoneration. Something I'm going to be very interested in if it does go to trial: The nature of the documentation that granted Rudat the right to post the sign on private property to begin with.

While we're talking about public officials under the gun, I'm reminded that I ran into GOP maverick Tim Whitacre and former Sheriff's candidate Bill Hunt at a cigar smoker last month, and Whitacre told me he's literally counting the days before he can file a notice to recall Sheriff Mike Carona. (It's April 9th by my count.) Lest you think it an idle threat, Whitacre, you'll recall, made himself a huge pain in the butt to the GOP leadership by taking it to court over the party's endorsement of Carona. The sheriff was re-elected, of course, but by less than 1 percent of the vote. Even so, Whitacre might have still left him to serve out his term in peace, but then Carona put Hunt on leave and is trying to bust him from lieutenant to deputy. It's undeniable Hunt's campaign had a negative impact on Carona's leadership, and that might turn out to be enough to demote him in the eyes of the law. But in the court of public opinion, banishing your political opponent doesn't sit well, and Whitacre knows this. I'd call a successful recall a long shot, but just having to go through the process won't help the sheriff any.

Hunt has his so-called "Skelly hearing" next week. By law, a public employee must be given a hearing on the allegations against him before discipline can be meted out. Two years ago, Hunt had promised me that if he ever got a copy of the attorney general's report on the controversial Haidl pot bust and his role in it, he'd give me a copy. He says he has still never been given a copy of it, but in that same spirit of full disclosure, I've asked him to provide me a copy of the sheriff's current disciplinary report against him and to authorize me to attend the Skelly hearing.

Through Whitacre, Hunt says he will let his attorney make that call. I can respect that, I really can, but if Hanley over at the Times turns up with that report before I do, there's going to be hell to pay.

Contact the writer: Mickadeit writes Mon.-Fri. Contact him at 714-796-4994 or fmickadeit@ocregister.

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